Buried
by miscaswan
Summary: With the help of Abigail and Riley, Ben attempts to unravel a hidden mystery surrounding the tragic Salem Witch Trials of 1692. But there's someone out there who wishes to stop him at all costs.


A/N: So this is my first ever National Treasure fanfic, and I am extremely nervous/excited about it! Side note, I am basing this story around the whole page 47 idea, but I am ignoring the fact that Ben called it "life-altering," for my purposes. Hope you like!

* * *

On page number forty-seven of the President's secret book, President Calvin Coolidge described how he had taken great interest in a painting of an old colonial structure, and he had wished that the painting could be displayed in his office at the White House.

Unfortunately, as his closest advisors had pointed out, the building in question was a likeness of an old Puritan church, or meeting place, and the President could not be perceived as having allegiances to any specific church, not even Puritanism, despite the fact that it was far less prevalent by the twentieth century. Coolidge understood the conflict and agreed to have he painting sent away, though not before he noticed something quite peculiar about it.

There was writing on the steeple. Albeit, it was small, and the naked eye could only make out a smudge. But Coolidge was curious, as it seemed like a purposeful, yet out of place, smudge. He requested a magnifying glass, and upon further inspection, he discovered that the steeple depicted the inscription: Exodus 22:18.

How clever, the President thought. This church was the depiction of an actual church, that still stood then in Massachusetts. The artist had clearly paid great attention to detail when recreating this great piece of colonial architecture. Despite his admiration, the President allowed it to be sent off. Months later, one of his acquaintances expressed his plans to travel to Boston, and the President bestowed on him a personal favor. Find this church for me, and tell me what it says on the steeple. The President was only half serious, and he was surprised and impressed when the young man delivered.

The inscription on the actual steeple read: Matthew 13:44. The young man also noted that there seemed to be more written there, but the steeple was far to high to make it out, even with binoculars. The difference fascinated the President, and he wrote both scriptures on page forty-seven of the secret book.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." -Exodus 22:18

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field." - Matthew 13:44.

The President tried to get the painting back, believing it to be of great historical significance, but the trail that it had taken once leaving the White House was undocumented. His advisors suggested he focus on more important matters, and he let his obsession with the painting drop. However, he left an entry in the secret book, requesting that any future President that has the means to locate this painting _should _locate it, as he felt it should be preserved and displayed as a symbol of this dark moment in history.

This short story was all that was said in the secret book, and Benjamin Gates knew only that he was intrigued. He imagined that the President had requested he look at this page simply from the mention of the word "treasure" in one of the scriptures. But of course, it was never that simple.

"The word treasure," Ben paused as he took a bite from his dinner, "is not referring to real, tangible treasure."

"It's a parable," Abigail agreed softly. She sat across from him at the table in a secluded corner of the restaurant. "It's referring to the value of Heaven. I'm not sure why the President would think it means real treasure."

"I don't think he did. I think he saw reason to investigate, and I tend to agree," Ben said. "President Coolidge thought it was significant because the Puritans on the surface seemed to promote kind, wholesome beliefs, hence the inscription about the value of Heaven. But in the painting, the artist alluded to its darker side."

"The witch hunts," she nodded, leaning back in her chair and looking idly around the restaurant.

"That Bible verse was quoted by many religious groups, not just the Puritans. But it gave them reason to seek out and execute witches. It made them feel as though they were doing the work of God," Ben said. "I don't know if there's treasure. But I find it interesting, and I want to know more." For the first time, he noticed her almost slumped posture and the listless look on her face. "Am I boring you?"

"Of course not," Abigail said, and she straightened in her seat as if to prove a point. "You're right, it's very interesting. How would you go about learning more?"

Ben hesitated, confused by her languid attitude, but he pressed on. "Well, I'd like to find the painting. I was hoping you could help me with that."

"How much do you know about it?" she asked.

"President Coolidge mentioned the name of the painting, and the artist. Beyond that, I don't know."

"I can look into it. If anything, maybe I can locate the provenance and see where it's been," she paused. "You don't think there's a treasure map on the back, do you?" she asked suspiciously.

"If only it were that easy," he said, with a soft laugh. "If I can find the painting, I should be able to identify the church. Do you think it'd still be standing?"

"After three hundred years?" Abigail said. "I suppose it's possible, especially if it was still standing in the 1920s."

"I think there's more to the inscription on the steeple. He did mention that there was some of it he couldn't make out. Maybe it's-"

"A clue?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow. But the delight in her eyes didn't coincide with the frown on her face. She seemed interested, but not nearly as fascinated as she should be.

"Possibly a clue," he confirmed, and he wrinkled his forehead. "You're all right, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm all right. I'm a little tired, but it's been a very long week. I promise you will have my full enthusiasm in a couple days when I'm well rested." She glanced down at her half empty plate. "I'm finished, are you finished?"

"I think so," he said. He saw their server passing by, and he asked that they be brought the check. While they waited, Abigail spoke again.

"I know you're excited about this, and I will never stop loving the adventurer in you," she said. "But I hope you know that I can't survive another life-threatening treasure hunt. Promise me that once it gets dangerous, you'll pull back."

Ben wasn't sure how to broach the subject. But he knew he couldn't life to her. "Well, Abigail…I can't do that."

She let out a deep sigh, placing her fingers to her forehead as if it was aching. Ben went on, "I'd rather not make a promise I can't keep. You know once my head is in these things, I can't just let them go. I finish what I start."

"Even if that means dying?" she asked. "You almost died last time."

"I almost die when someone tries to kill me," he said. "I would not have taken the same risks I did if Ian had not been holding my father at gunpoint. And Wilkinson-"

"Had he not been there, you would have stayed behind," she said. "You wouldn't have let anyone else make that sacrifice."

"I won't make enemies this time."

"It might not matter," she said. "There are still dangers to these things."

"Well, hold on now. We're getting ahead of ourselves. We don't even know that this is a treasure. This is a piece of history that I am researching. There is nothing dangerous about that."

"For now," she said gently.

"Why are you all of a sudden so concerned? You knew this about me when we fell in love. It's the _reason _we fell in love." Ben found himself experiencing second-hand déjà vu. His mother had been attracted to his father because of his passion, and his adventurist spirit. But eventually she had, in her words, grown up and moved on to raise her son. Abigail had been at his side throughout a good portion of his adventures. He found it surprising that she was stepping down from it now.

"I'm concerned _because _I love you," Abigail said. "Because I saw how scary and risky all of this can truly be. And I'm not saying never, but it's only been four months since Cibola. I love the adventures you take, but even an explorer needs to rest from time to time."

"I'm taking this slow," he assured her. "You have nothing to worry about."

The check arrived then, and after they'd paid their bill, they left the restaurant.

* * *

It was almost two weeks later before Abigail located the provenance for the painting mentioned in President Coolidge's entry. The church itself was formerly located in Danvers, Massachusetts. It had been torn down in 1927. However, President Coolidge had continued his conquest. He'd ordered that the steeple of the church be preserved as a national artifact.

"It's on display at the National Heritage Museum," Ben informed Abigail after he'd taken about a week to track it down. They were in bed, getting ready to go to sleep. "So I'm going to Boston to check it out."

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"You could come with me," he told her. He looked up from the pad of paper he was scribbling notes into.

"I've got too much work to do here," she said. Though she did her best to sound sad about it, Ben could tell that she was happy to have an excuse not to accompany him.

"You could use a vacation," he said. "You seem so tired all the time."

"Things will let up in a couple of weeks," Abigail replied. "I'll go on a vacation. Maybe we could go somewhere together. We could go to Europe or...oh, I've never been to Greece, and I'd really like to go."

All of a sudden, she seemed excited about something, and it was enough to make Ben smile. "It's settled then. We will. What time of year is best? We could start planning right away."

"I think it's beautiful in the summer. Which is going to be upon us in just a couple of months. Is that too soon?"

Ben shook his head, adjusting his glasses. "We'll make it work. If it's what you want."

Abigail nodded slowly, and her face twisted into that usual expression that he'd just done something wrong. "If it's what _I _want? You don't want to go with me?"

"You won't come with me to Boston," he pointed out.

"And you really think that's the same thing?" she asked in a pedantic tone, like she was speaking to a child.

"I think," he paused dramatically, "that as a couple we should support each other's endeavors. Now, I endeavor to view an historic artifact at a museum in Boston, and you should support me in the same way I will support your endeavor to travel to Greece."

"Traveling to Greece is not an endeavor. It's an aimless, purposeless vacation, where we can go and do whatever we wish."

"We can do that in Boston."

"No," she said, dragging out the word. "You are going to Boston for a very specific reason. There is nothing aimless or purposeless about it." She paused. "I want to travel, Ben. We more than have the means now."

"I said we'd go to Greece."

"Yes, but in your mind, I'm the one that's going to Greece, and you are tagging along in an effort to make me happy," she said. "So maybe I should just go now, by myself. And by the time I get back, maybe your treasure hunt will be over."

She seemed content with ending there and she turned her back on him and scooted down in the bed. But Ben kept talking, "It's not a treasure hunt," he said.

"Not yet," she said. "I'm going to sleep now." She reached out and turned the lamp off.

Ben sat up for several more minutes, staring at the notepad on his lap but not really seeing his words. Something had changed. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something between him and Abigail had drastically changed.

* * *

It was eleven o'clock on a Friday night, and a red Ferrari cruised up the cobble-stoned street to a tall brick house. The driver, a confident Riley Poole, leaned back with a contented sigh, draping his arm over his passenger's shoulders. She tilted her head up, and then turned her bright blues eyes to him. They were wide with awe, and her smile grew. Riley didn't wait for her to gush about how historically charming his home was, and he knew she would - they always did.

"It was built in 1807," Riley informed her proudly. "It was originally designed for Harrison Gray Otis. You know who he was?"

"No," she said, her eyes filled with wonder.

"I don't either," he quipped, and this filled her with laughter. Truth was, he knew that Harrison Gray Otis was a Federalist. Actually one of the first Federalists, and he'd been appointed by John Adams to some important position that Riley couldn't remember. None of it really mattered since this house had never once had any connection to Harrison Gray Otis. Lying wasn't lying when everyone had fun with it. And the girls usually did. "So you want to go see the inside?"

"As long as you come with me," she whispered, her nose inches from his.

In answer to her question, Riley kissed her. Once, twice, and then a third time, long and luscious. He disengaged his lips and said in a low, husky voice, "You ready?"

The girl nodded emphatically, and Riley grinned as they climbed out of the car. He slid his key into the lock and pushed the door open. She was on him before he was all the way through the door and he clumsily slammed it shut as she pushed him into the coat rack. She pushed his jacket from his shoulders. And then he heard the sound of someone's throat clearing.

Riley opened his eyes, the girl's lips still on his, and he saw a familiar person sitting in the armchair a few feet away in the living room. She was reading a book, and she didn't even look up as she greeted him, "Hey Riley."

Riley exhaled, his warm breath spreading over his date's face. The girl turned and saw the other woman sitting in the chair. "Is this your wife?" she demanded.

"No, she-" Riley didn't get to finish when the girl slapped him across the face and stormed out of the house, calling him a bad kisser and a lying jerk. Riley glared as he stepped into the living room. "You're supposed to be in Wasta," he said.

"Had a fight with my brother. Decided to come home," she said simply, continuing to read her book. "Glad I could ruin your evening."

Riley dropped onto the sofa. "There're always be another one."

"That must be so satisfying for you," she replied spitefully.

"Jackie," Riley said with an annoyed sigh. "You want to bust my chops, fine, but if you hate me so much, you could always move out."

Jackie finally looked up from her book. Her nose crinkled in concern, her freckles running together in light brown smudges across her cheeks. "Do you want me to move out?"

"No," he said immediately, some sympathy coming to his voice. "Is everything okay?"

"Ten hours ago I was in South Dakota. Now I'm here. I just want to relax and then go to bed," Jackie said. She then reached for a pad of paper on the end table beside her. "You had a phone stalker tonight. Called you four times." She tossed the pad to him and he caught it against his chest. "Ben Gates," she said.

"Oh really?" he asked playfully, holding the pad out so he could look at it. "Ben Gates. Man, I haven't talked to him in..."

"Three months?" she guessed.

"Two, actually. He called me in February. I think we talked for all of five minutes, and it was awkward, and I really hope it never happens again."

"I thought you guys were like best friends," she said. "You've never said anything mean about him."

"Of course not. The man is a saint. He's a great guy, and we are best friends. But only when we're treasure hunting. Outside of that, we have nothing in common. And talking on the phone is like...it's like pulling teeth."

"You couldn't come up with anything more clever than pulling teeth?" she asked. "You must be upset."

Riley actually laughed. "Don't make this into a serious thing. We work well together, but we're very different."

"You and me are 'very different,' and we're living together."

"Yes, but you read my book," he joked. "He never did that."

"Oh I get it now!" she said in sarcastic revelation. "This is all a repressed reaction to the rejection you felt when you discovered that he hadn't read your book! It all makes sense now. This discomfort you have around Ben Gates is this deep-rooted insecurity that you feel anytime he's near. You feel like the whole world thinks he's better than you, and you think he thinks it too."

Riley stared at her, dead-panned. "Are you done?"

"I think so," she said. "You should call him. It seemed important."

"It's late," he said.

"He said he didn't care." Jackie leaned forward, giving him a pleading look. "C'mon, call him. If it really is important, I'm dying to know. And if it's not, I'd love to see the awkwardness and teeth-pulling myself."

Riley continued to stare at her blankly, and she added, "I've had a bad day, Riley. Please. I need some entertainment."

"Fine," he relented, sucking in a breath as he reached for the phone. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly while he dialed. And the phone only rang twice before a familiar voice picked up. "Ben, it's Riley."

"Yes, Riley!" he said excitedly. "I've been trying to call you."

"Yeah, I know," Riley said. "That's why I'm calling you back."

"Right," he said. He sounded really distracted. "I have some business out in Boston so I thought I'd stop in and see you for a few days."

"Yeah, I'm kind of busy," he said.

"I think you'll want to make time for this," Ben replied. "It's something pretty big."

"You finally popping the question?" Riley asked as he watched Jackie stand up and head for the stairs, her interest in their conversation clearly gone. He watched her go, her wavy blonde hair bouncing as she walked. And then he realized he'd stopped listening to Ben. "I'm sorry, what?" Riley said.

"I said I could use your expertise," Ben said. "If you're interested."

"Maybe. What do you need me for?" he asked, though he had to admit that his interest was already piqued. If Ben was contacting him, and if Ben wanted to actually see him in person, then there had to be a treasure involved. There just had to be.

"I'd rather discuss it face-to-face," Ben said in his usual dignified manner.

"Face-to-face," Riley murmured. "Got it, what with all the wire tapping."

"Funny," Ben said.

"Oh, I wasn't being funny," Riley said. "I'm all in for hearing the details. When are you coming?"

"I'm going to leave tomorrow morning," Ben told him. He certainly was anxious, Riley thought. Or else just giving him extremely short notice.

"All righty," Riley said, his tone lacking the enthusiasm that he was sure Ben was expecting. "So should I make up the twin bed or the king-size?"

"What?" Ben asked.

"Is Abigail coming?"

"Oh uh..." Ben seemed hesitant. "Don't know. I think she'd love to see you, but I don't think she's ready."

"Uh huh, right. I know most girls need a few days to prepare themselves to bask in my excellence, but I would hope she'd be used to me by now," Riley said.

"No, not you, the...well, what it is I'm working on. She'll be on board, just not yet," he explained. "But you can still make up the big bed. I like to stretch out."

"Of course you do," Riley said.

"And what about you? Some girl answered your phone. Three times."

"I believe you called four times," Riley said.

"I did, but she only answered three times," Ben said. "So who is she?"

"My biggest fan," Riley said.

"Seriously," Ben insisted.

"No, seriously. She is my biggest fan. The only person in the whole world that read my book. You remember my book?"

"No one could ever forget your book, Riley," Ben replied. "Which I have now read four and a half times. Well, four and a quarter. I'm only about fifty pages in right now."

Riley didn't say anything, but he smiled, when Ben pushed again, "But who is she really?"

"Why won't you believe me?" Riley asked.

"Your biggest fan sits in your house and answers your phone?"

"No, of course not," Riley said, his tone showing his ridiculous opinion of it. "It's her house too."

"You're living together," Ben said. He sounded both surprised and amused. "Wow, this...it must be pretty serious."

"Oh, we're just friends," he paused, "We tried the whole relationship thing, but it just didn't work." Riley heard the stairs creaking and saw her coming back down. At the bottom of the stairs, she made an immediate turn into the kitchen. She'd changed into her sleep clothes, which revealed her long, tanned legs. Once she'd disappeared from sight, he blinked, as if in a daze. "Yeah, we don't work as a couple," he insisted.

"Well, I can't wait to meet her," Ben said.

"Sure," Riley replied. Ben told him he should be in town tomorrow evening sometime and he'd give Riley another call so they could make plans. Riley hung up the phone with a deep sigh. He lied on the couch listlessly for a few minutes before Jackie came back into the room.

"Well?" she asked. "What did he want?"

"To see me. He needs my help with something," he explained.

She smiled her bright smile. "That's great. I can't wait to meet him," she said, unknowingly echoing Ben's sentiments towards her.

Riley nodded. "I always knew you were just using me to meet the treasure hunter you truly idolize."

"Oh, of course. I'm surprised it took you this long to figure it out," she replied, crossing her arms and nodding her head empathically. She smiled again and headed back for the stairs. "See you tomorrow, Indy," she called behind her.

"G'night," he said softly, so soft that she probably hadn't heard him. His eyes moved into a trance-like stare at the rug on the floor, making him unmotivated to move. Maybe a treasure hunt was just what he needed.


End file.
